


Starting Over

by fictorium



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: From a lyric prompt





	Starting Over

“Well?” Frankie throws herself into the hotel room’s one armchair, pretending she hasn’t paced a track in the carpet with her Birkenstocks. “What’s the skinny? Who’s the San Diego Donald Trump who snapped up our house?”

Grace freezes in that way she does, like a goddamn Grecian statue with a killer blowout. As though by standing still enough, she can wait Frankie out, let her forget the question in the first place. Which has only been successful four times, so that’s how much she knows. 

“Who do you think?” Grace relents, heading straight for the mini bar. Her limp is really easing up now, but whether that’s healing or the Percocet kicking in, Frankie’s not dumb enough to take that bet. 

“Assuming it’s not our worst ever president, my money’s on the too-jolly not-a-saint Nick. Am I close?”

Her only answer is a wince and a tiny bottle of Grey Goose downed, neat. 

“He thought he was helping.” Grace’s voice has that rasp to it now, the dry throat of hangovers and the times someone made her cry. Not that Frankie gets to see the tears, of course, but she knows when they’ve been cried. “He is helping. He’s signing the house back over to us for a dollar. Just as soon as you…” That vague wave of her hand, but Frankie can see that Grace’s knuckles are still white. 

“Legally exist?” Frankie supplies, because she can dig in for them both right now. She can be the one who drags them through this time. “And what about the bats in our belfry?” A blank look. “The holes, in the walls?”

“Oh. Taken care of apparently. So maybe we’re just as feeble as our kids think. After all these years… I finally had to rely on a man. Even with Robert I never, I didn’t… I had the business, and…”

Frankie knows her way round this by now. It’s a lot like the time she ‘volunteered’ at the big cat rescue. No direct approach, no eye contact. Just skirt around the edges and pounce from behind. It’s how she ends up with her arms around Grace’s (tiny, god, how still so tiny?) waist. 

“You are Grace Hanson,” Frankie tells her, doing her very best RBG voice for effect. “And you don’t need any man. Take the house and flip it. Knock it down if you want to. I’m pretty sure I can handle one of those big diggers. Like Miley, I can be your wrecking ball, if that’s what you want.”

“Oh, you cannot.” Grace is back to sniffling. It’s under control. Frankie can’t let go too soon, or it all goes to hell again. 

“Can’t what? Be a wrecking ball?”

“Operate heavy machinery. You’re usually too stoned, for a start.”

“Then we get our house back. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Did he put my name on the deeds as ‘Kooky’?”

Grace ducks her head, guilty by association. “I’m sure we can iron all that out. You really think I can accept the house?”

“We’ve already paid for it once over, being married to those gay guys,” Frankie jokes. “Or did you want to share a hotel room with me for the rest of your life?”

Grace turns in Frankie’s embrace, leaning into her instead of pulling away. “The… rest of my life?”

“Well, the way I see it between resurrection and outwitting our kids, we’re one hell of a team. And like the Chicago Bulls in ‘98, or… or… Bert and Ernie! You don’t break up a winning team.”

Grace smiles, and it’s a little tight around the edges, but it’s a smile. “Am I Ernie?”

“Oh Grace,” Frankie sighs. “You’re so clearly Bert. Not the eyebrows, but still.”

“You know, Brianna always says those puppets are more than roommates. Granted, she says it to make Mallory’s kids ask difficult questions, but I’m just putting that out there.”

There it is again. That glint in Grace’s eye that Frankie tries to tell herself is some weirdly specific hallucination. Like the month where she saw a tiny Elvis on Sol’s shoulder almost all the time. Only this is a very welcome sight, and one Frankie might have to admit is real.

“Well, you did say we’re strong, independent ladies who don’t need no man…”

“Did I?” Grace doesn’t like it when she knows Frankie is quoting, but isn’t sure what from. Well tough, she’s going to have to get used to it. Because Grace is in Frankie’s arms, and she doesn’t feel much inclined to let her go anytime soon. 

But then Grace is kissing her, all forward and pushy and mindblowing. It’s the little dot beside a painting, it’s the adoption papers finally clearing, it’s 2-for-1 at Del Taco and that amazing kush in San Francisco, all in one. 

When they part, Frankie’s lips are tingling and Grace’s hand is on her cheek. “I…”

“Ready to come back from the dead?” Grace asks, pulling away and scooping up her purse. Her tears are dry now, no sign she was ever in disarray. “Because I think it’s about time we went home, don’t you?”

“Grace-”

“And since I’m so used to having you right there, I think we should talk about sharing my bedroom.”

Brisk, all business, turning the world inside out like it’s nothing. That’s Grace all right. 

“But you only have one bed,” Frankie makes her last feeble protest, gesturing to the twin beds behind them. 

“That’s right.” And Grace honest-to-Oprah winks. It’s just as well Frankie hasn’t blown out her knee, because they get decidedly weak in that moment. 

“Cool,” is all Frankie can think to say, but then there’s Grace’s arm linked with hers, and they’re heading out into the world together. Together. If this is coming back to the land of the living, then Frankie is more than okay with it.

And judging from the smile on Grace’s beautiful face as the valet brings the car around, so is she.


End file.
